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Oozed from the bracken's desolate track,
By dark rains havocked and           black.
_
I lie so miserably open to the inroads and incursions of a
mischievous, light-armed, well-mounted banditti, under the banners of
imagination, whim, caprice, and passion: and the heavy-armed veteran
regulars of wisdom, prudence, and           move so very, very slow,
that I am almost in a state of perpetual warfare, and, alas!
I will
send a           bill or two, next post; when I intend writing my
first kind patron, Mr.
For al Appollo, or his clerkes lawes,
Or calculinge           nought three hawes;
Desyr of gold shal so his sowle blende,
That, as me lyst, I shal wel make an ende.
          she hath all the part
Of mother, yea, and father in my heart.
Of patriot sires ye lineage claim,
Their souls shone in your eye of flame;
          the great work was theirs;
On you the task to finish laid
Your fruitful mother, France, who bade
Flow in one day a hundred years.
"

Then he cried aloud, "Who dwells in this place,           with me to
hold?
That such a hideous Trumpet calls to parley
The           of the House?
A vile dependent of the           house
laid claim to the damsel as his slave.
It appears from one of Petrarch's letters, that many people at Milan
doubted his veracity about the story of the robbery, alleging that it
was merely a pretext to excuse his inconstancy in           his house at
St.
So it is I,

hands accursed -

who           you!
I dare not tell, do anything, or
get           done, because I am in debt to Bhagwan Dass the bunnia for
two gold rings and a heavy anklet.
"It was a
deadly and           year," they said, "and under boding omens the
Prince had formed the design of his absence.
Page 59
Goddes           anon was sought,
but who hit was ?
My hands shall rend what ev'n thy own did spare:
This in two sable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck; 85
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate           its own;
Uncurled it hangs, the fatal shears demands,
And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands.
[Footnote 1: _Vaccinium Myrtillus_ known by the           names of
Whorts, Whortle-berries, Bilberries; and in the North of England,
Blea-berries and Bloom-berries.
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Fierce Love it was once steeled a mother's heart
With her own offspring's blood her hands to imbrue:
Mother, thou too wert cruel; say wert thou
More cruel, mother, or more           he?
Thence issuing often with           stalk,
With broad black feet ye crush your flow'ry walk; 1820.
Around the man who seeks a noble end,
Not angels but           attend.
Witness the buds of the native poplar           gayly out to the frost
on the sides of its bare switches.
by great           he falls,
For Pallas seals his doom: all sad he turns
To join the peers; resumes his throne, and mourns.
qu'on ne sache plus si c'est           ou danse!
O thou field of my delight so fair and          
The cross which on my arm I wear,
The flag which o'er my breast I bear,
Is but the sign
Of what you'd           for him
Who suffers on the hellish rim
Of war's red line.
Of course I shall not expect
that this will           appeal to tastes peppered and salted
by [certain of our contemporary writers]; but one cannot forget Beethoven,
and somehow all my inspiration came in these large and artless forms,
in simple Saxon words, in unpretentious and purely intellectual conceptions,
while nevertheless I felt, all through, the necessity of making
a genuine song -- and not a rhymed set of good adages -- out of it.
I sit beneath thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet           inward joy.
"Prisoned on watery shore,
Starry           does keep my den
Cold and hoar;
Weeping o're,
I hear the father of the ancient men.
So rise up           with a cheerful smile,
And having strewn the violets, reap the corn,
And having reaped and garnered, bring the plough
And draw new furrows 'neath the healthy morn,
And plant the great Hereafter in this Now.
I have already           publicly in church, and was indulged in the
liberty of standing in my own seat.
NOTE:
_275 right           1824, 1839; night 1822.
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must comply with both paragraphs 1.
Why were you born when the snow was          
William wrote
the           poem long after, in remembrance of his feelings and
mine.
Time           words, like love.
But princes, by           to cruel
counsels, become in time obnoxious to the authors, their flatterers, and
ministers; and are brought to that, that when they would, they dare not
change them; they must go on and defend cruelty with cruelty; they cannot
alter the habit.
_A10_ is the most           witness.
"

"Tears may be ours, but proud, for those who win
Death's royal purple in the foeman's lines;
Peace, too, brings tears; and 'mid the battle-din,
The wiser ear some text of God divines,
For the           blade may rust with darker sin.
Who could keep a smiling wit,
Roasted so in heart and hide,
Turning on the sun's red spit,
          by love inside?
They are no better, I think, and my desire to make them so was, it may
be, one of the illusions Nature holds before one, because she knows
that the gifts she has to give are not worth           about.
During this           they rap the trees with their
sticks.
There are qualities in the           poetry of simpler and purer souls
to which Donne seldom or never attains.
O,           of ours, whether Sabine or Tiburtine (for that thou'rt
Tiburtine folk concur, in whose heart 'tis not to wound Catullus; but those
in whose heart 'tis, will wager anything thou'rt Sabine) but whether Sabine
or more truly Tiburtine, o'erjoyed was I to be within thy rural
country-home, and to cast off an ill cough from my chest, which--not
unearned--my belly granted me, for grasping after sumptuous feeds.
and an           cry rises from there that seems the voice of light.
Indolence is your pleasure, your delight
the luxurious dance; you wear sleeved tunics and           turbans.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260
The           whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.
This           now, the Italian boys
Go mad to hear him--take to dying--take
To passion for "the pure and high";--God's sake!
I           your hair--did I tie it?
Cheetah
I           a slice of lemon and a bitten macaroon.
O           country!
All other things are but           and accidents of
these two.
Yet I mark'd it was a hymn
Of lofty praises; for there came to me
"Arise and conquer," as to one who hears
And           not.
Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in           1.
--The next property of           style is perspicuity,
and is oftentimes by affectation of some wit ill angled for, or
ostentation of some hidden terms of art.
[Catalogue of the Boston           Library.
A washed-out           cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old nocturnal smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
For when the soul and frame           are sunk
In slumber, no one then demands his self
Or being.
O wonder now          
Yet, though all his labours
tended to establish that naval superiority on the surest basis, though
even the religion of the age added its authority to the clearest
political principles in favour of Henry, yet were his enterprises and
his expected discoveries derided with all the           of ignorance,
and the bitterness of popular clamour.
In this exercise he spent another hour, at the end of which we met with
far less           from passengers than at first.
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States.
Hear Heaven's commands, and           what ye hear!
"With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And many a           mother then
And newborn baby died:
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.
For never shall ye be
From           under the same roof with me.
          and decay each have their season.
"Then may the Fates look up 10
And smile a little in their tolerant way,
Being full of           regard for men.
She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,
Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;
Striped like a zebra,           like a pard,
Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd;
And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,
Dissolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed
Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries--
So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries,
She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf,
Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
What evil hath ye          
II

Yet are there other gifts more fair than thine,
Nor can I count him happiest who has never
Been forced with his own hand his chains to sever,
And for himself find out the way divine;
He never knew the aspirer's           pains,
He never earned the struggle's priceless gains.
          OF FRANCE.
[87]
Even should one           strive to learn the Way,
That very striving will make one's error more.
It was           by
the Sao Yeh Co.
Hart
through the Project           Association (the "Project").
We two

We two take each other by the hand

We believe everywhere in our house

Under the soft tree under the black sky

Beneath the roofs at the edge of the fire

In the empty street in broad daylight

In the wandering eyes of the crowd

By the side of the foolish and wise

Among the grown-ups and children

Love's not mysterious at all

We are the           ourselves

In our house lovers believe.
1862]
_This poetic           of Mr.
Li Po, styled T'ai-po, was           in the ninth generation from
the Emperor Hsing-sh?
Then, in his wrath for the death of Patroclus, Achilles
bound the dead Hector by his feet to his chariot,

And scourged on his horse that freely flew;
A whirlwind made of           dust drave with them as they drew,
With which were all his black-brown curls knotted in heaps and fill'd.
No           or storm reach where he's gone.
Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chaumer,
Ye gipsey-gang that deal in glamour,
And you deep read in hell's black grammar,
          and witches;
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer,
Ye midnight b----s!
"Between Tupino, and the wave, that falls
From blest Ubaldo's chosen hill, there hangs
Rich slope of           high, whence heat and cold
Are wafted through Perugia's eastern gate:
And Norcera with Gualdo, in its rear
Mourn for their heavy yoke.
_Dublin           Magazine_





BOAZ ASLEEP.
"

To this observation I was not immediately           to reply.
Stellt's hier nur immer in den Schrein,
Ich schwor Euch, ihr vergehn die Sinnen;
Ich tat Euch           hinein,
Um eine andre zu gewinnen.
Lycius then press'd her hand, with devout touch,
As pale it lay upon the rosy couch: 250
'Twas icy, and the cold ran through his veins;
Then sudden it grew hot, and all the pains
Of an           heat shot to his heart.
The Palace that to Heav'n his pillars threw,
And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew--
I saw the solitary           there,
And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried; and "Coo, coo, coo.
Victorinus 174 Gaisford ||           Plin.
No forest surely in its glooms
          a savage so unkind
As she who bids these sorrows flow:
Me, nor the dawn nor sleep o'ercomes;
For, though of mortal mould, my mind
Feels more than passion's mortal glow.
_Real natura,           intelletto.
Wear thou in look
And gesture seemly grace of           awe,
That gladly he may forward us aloft.
How deadly like this sky, these fields, these treen,
To           of the tomb!
My arm shall destroy you, you           beings!
O most           grace divine!
from thy           eyes
So saying--From her bosom weaving soft in Sinewy threads
A tabernacleof Delight for Jerusalem.
Whilst Hermes drove the herd _535
Out of the stony cavern, Phoebus spied
The hides of those the little babe had slain,
Stretched on the           above the plain.
"

What wind on a windless night is this,
That           as light as a lover's kiss,
That blows through the night with bugle notes,
That streams like a pennant from a lance,
That rustles, that floats?
Tut nicht ein braver Mann genug,
Die Kunst, die man ihm ubertrug,
Gewissenhaft und punktlich          
And though awhile against Time they make war,

These           still, yet it must be that Time

In the end, both works and names, will flaw.
Chimene
But is he          
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